


Peace Worth Keeping

by pasiphile



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/F, Nonbinary Character, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 04:09:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2177364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasiphile/pseuds/pasiphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the war coming to an end and the new railroads winding their way across the Disc, more than one politically-savvy eye has turned to Borogravia, and to one influential young sergeant in particular. But Borogravia and its "Monstrous Regiments" are having concerns of their own...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peace Worth Keeping

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for homophobia and transphobia

_"Diggle!"_

Polly’s voice reverberated satisfyingly across the small chasm. Diggle’s head snapped up.

“ _Did I tell you to loiter_?” Polly bellowed.

“No Sarge!” Diggle said smartly. “I was just – ”

“ _I don’t care what you just did I gave you an order! Are you disobeying me?”_

“No Sarge,” Diggle said, rosy cheeks going pale.

“ _Because that would be insubordination!”_ Polly roared.

“Yes Sarge! I mean, no Sarge, I mean – ”

_“Is that wood you’re chopping Private?”_

“No Sarge!”

“ _THEN REMEDY THAT.”_

“Yessarge!” Diggle squeaked, and scarpered.

The other lads breathed out, exchanging looks. Polly gave them a stern look of her own, then went back to her earlier spot in the shade. It was surprisingly hot, by Borogravian standards, and she’d co-opted the only bit of shade. Being a sergeant had some perks, other than just getting to be shouty.

Mal ambled up. Polly lit a cigarette and shifted a bit to the side, giving Mal room to lean next to her. Mal wasn’t a big fan of sunshine, either.

“So,” Mal said, non-committally, once Polly had blown out her first stream of smoke, “That was a bit harsh.”

“She – ”

“ _He_.”

“Yeah, sorry, _he_ can use it.” She took another drag. “He’s been treated like a spoilt little princess all his life, he has to learn he isn’t the centre of attention here. He needs the occasional good bollicking. And he’s tough, he can take it.”

“Hm. _He_ can, yeah.”

Polly gave Mal a sharp look. “Gobbins?”

Mal nodded. “Had a word with Pott. Turns out little Gobbins has been crying herself asleep for three nights in a row. Thought you talked with her?”

“I _have_. Tried to explain there’s other ways of serving, of being _patriotic_ – ” Polly’s lip curled. “I even mentioned Igorina, but she wouldn’t have it. Said this was the path she needed to take, whatever that means.” Polly breathed out smoke. “She reminds me of Wazzer. Keep an eye on her, will you?”

“Will do. Oh, and there’s something going on with Jones, as well.”

Polly looked at the little group around the fire and picked out Jones, a tall gangly lad with possibly the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. “What sort of thing?”

“Not sure, but he’s been a lot more quiet lately than he used to be. Thoughtful staring. I _think_ he’s just working some stuff out, but…”

“I’ll watch him.”

“Yeah.”

Polly looked at her corporal. Mal was looking rather intently at Polly’s cigarette – she didn’t like Polly smoking, for some reason. Although that was one habit she wasn’t willing to give up; more than once the occasional cigarette had been all that kept her awake during long nightly stake-outs.

“Anything else?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“How are you doing?” Mal asked, still strangely intent.

She blinked, surprised. “Strange question.”

“I _know_ you, Polly. There's something on your mind. So?”

Polly turned her head away and looked at their shadows on the ground. “I’m…” She waved her cigarette. “Fine. Tired. Thinking.”

“Hm,” Mal said, sceptically. “Well, you know, if there’s anything – ”

“ _Sarge_!”

They both looked up. Pott was running towards them, cheeks bright red. “What’s up, Private?” Polly bellowed cheerfully. She could see Mal trying to control her smile from the corner of her eyes.

“Tom’s lost his socks but he thinks Eddie stole them and now they’re fighting, Sarge! Tried to stop them but they wouldn’t listen!”

“Right.” Polly dropped her cigarette butt and ground it out. “Let’s sort this nonsense out, shall we Corporal?”

“Let’s, Sarge,” Mal said, grinning, her canines showing.

They marched away.

***

On the surface of it, you would have thought it would have made things simpler. Girls enlisted and got skirts, boys enlisted and got trousers. Nice and easy.

The first hint came when Mal ditched both her trousers and the _-a_ at the end of her name. Polly didn't think about that too much at the time. Trousers didn't snag the way skirts tended to do so it was only practical to change, and she rarely used Mal's full name anyway.

But then the recruitment party got visited by a boy with a very visible adam's apple and two rolled up stockings stuffed down his shirt and a high squeaky voice which he obviously thought was feminine. Polly had almost laughed, but then Mal had pointed out, mildly, that there wasn't that much a difference between what they had done and what this lad/lass was doing. So Polly shrugged and handed him the skirted uniform instead of the trousers and took care to refer to the new private as _she_ from that moment on.

But that one wasn't the only one, and things got a bit... complicated. More people showed up with stubble and non-textile bulges in their trousers who nevertheless wanted to wear the skirts and being called things like _Alice_ and _Jane_. There were other people who turned down the socks and wanted to be thought of as _girls_ , thank you very much, but who also wore the trousers and burped and farted and cursed with the best of them. And then there was Mal, who cheerfully straddled the divide between male and female, who never corrected anyone whether they used _she_ or _he_ , and who generally confused the hell out of people.

None of it mattered, really. No matter if the bulges where flesh or cotton, no matter the names or the pronouns or the amount of cursing, they were _her little lads_ and so Polly took care of them, even if it meant giving lessons in walking and how to attach a sock so it didn't slide down at some crucial moment.

And you could get used to everything. Polly's latest recruitment routine had turned into a simple _Name age pronoun uniform preference_ , and while it became natural for her, the look of disbelieving relief on her recruits’ faces never changed.

***

The weather had turned.

Polly gave the sky a worried look. With a bit of luck they’d find a good camping site before the storm broke, but if they didn’t… Well, she didn’t want to risk it, not with the way Goodbody’s lungs kept rasping and Pott’s subtle but noticeable limp – nothing worse than marching in slippery mud if you had a fucked-up knee.

“How much longer, Sarge?” Bunce asked, his pale face scrunched up. Cramps? Polly quickly did the maths in her head – four weeks? Yep, cramps. Poor thing. She’d have make sure they had enough rags left.

Polly glanced at Mal. “Corporal?”

“There’s a good cave a few miles ahead. An hour, maybe? We’ll get there before sunset.”

“Any bears?” Polly asked.

“Er…” Mal pulled a sheepish face. “Don’t think so, but you know, a flight of bats isn’t ideal for proper hunting. But I’ll smell any that are around.”

“You didn’t last time.”

“I was still sniffly from having to sleep in that garlic-storing shed!”

“Hmph.” Polly turned back to Bunce. “You heard the corporal. Not too long now.”

“Thanks, Sarge. Corp.”

“Erm, Sarge?” Gobbins asked, timidly.

“Yes?”

“Where are we headed after that?”

“Headquarters.”

“What’s that, Sarge?”

Polly looked over her shoulder. This batch of lads had been with her for almost half a year now, and they’d seen quite a few battles together.

But they’d never had to deal with the Army proper before. They fought, and sometimes they joined other squads, but mostly they were like Polly used to be: completely unaware of all the power games and politics of the High Command.

She almost envied them.

“It’s where all the Generals and Colonels are gathered to decide what to do next,” she said.

“Oh,” Gobbins said. She looked down, frowning.

They marched on. Polly looked at the sky again. Was that a rumble of thunder? Or just her imagination?

“Sarge?”

“Yes?” she said absently, still squinting at the clouds above.

“What _is_ going to happen next?”

Polly looked over her shoulder again. Diggle, but his usual cocky expression was completely absent. He looked pale and worried and a bit frightened.

If she were Jackrum, she’d lie. Give them some platitude, or make up a story, just to reassure them.

But Polly wasn’t Jackrum.

“I don’t know, Diggle,” she said, kindly. “But I’ll make sure you’ll all be alright.”

Diggle nodded. He already looked a little more heartened. Sometimes the belief her lads had in her worried her a bit.

“And what if you can’t?” Pott asked. “What if you can’t help, Sarge?”

“I’ll find a way.” She flashed them a smile. “I still have a bit of leverage. And if that doesn’t work, well, who’s going to say no to a vampire? Your corporal will only have to flash her fangs and they’ll all listen very carefully to what she says next. Isn’t that right, Mal?” Polly turned back and found Mal staring at her, rather thoughtfully. “Mal?” she prompted again.

“Hm? Oh yes, of course.” She turned to the lads and bared her teeth at them. “Your corporal’s got your back, lads.”

“See? It’ll all be alright.”

There was a murmur of _yes sarges_. Polly faced the road again and tried to believe her own words.

Yes, she had leverage. And Mal was terrifying. But was that enough?

She glanced at Mal, who was marching next to her. She still looked thoughtful. “Something wrong?” Polly asked softly.

“Hm? Oh, no, just…” Mal smiled. “Just thinking.”

“Okay.” A drop of rain hit her shoulder. “Quick march, lads,” she yelled. “Just a bit further now!”

She upped the tempo and seven pair of feet splodged after her.

***

The sound of the rain outside was deafening, but inside the cave it was far more muted. Inside their little tent, wrapped in dry thick blankets, it was even close to cosy.

Polly burrowed a bit deeper and sighed.

“Polly?” Mal’s voice piped up, softly.

Polly opened her eyes. It had been a long day, and she really didn’t feel up to doing anymore talking.

On the other hand, it had been _Polly_ , not _Perks_ , and that meant Mal was serious. “Yes?” Polly whispered.

“I, er… Wanted to ask you something?”

“Yes?” she said again, her stomach plummeting.

“Why do you always use _she_? For me, I mean.”

“Oh.” She took a relieved breath. “Er… You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, I told you, I don’t care either way. It’s just curiosity.”

Silence inside their tent always had a special quality. It was never awkward. It mostly just felt… _patient_ , as if anything could be said here, as long as you waited long enough.

Eventually Mal said, “Is it because of…?”

Polly glanced aside and saw Mal wave at the general area of her crotch. Polly smiled.

“No.” Because if there was one thing she’d learned, it was that being _boy_ or _girl_ had very little to do with the contents of your pants.

“Then what?”

“Because…” She chewed her lip, thought it over. “Well, the thing is, I don’t really – don’t really think of you as a girl. Or a boy. Just a – a Mal.” She looked down. Mal was smiling at her, the skin at the corners of her eyes crinkling.

“Go on,” she said.

“But I’ve got to use something, right? And _she_ is better than _he_ , because if you’re – if I think of you as a _she_ , I don’t feel an urge to kick you in the fork when you’re being uppity.”

Mal snorted.

“Well, not that much of an urge,” Polly amended.

“Okay, fine, but why?”

Another silence, while Polly thought. It was hard putting it in words. “Because if you’ve been a _she_ , you know what’s it like to – to have to wear skirts and have people pinch your bottom and being told to be silent and smile a lot. And that makes it less irritating when you’re, you know, swaggering, because you’ve seen the other side. Does, er, that make sense?

Mal hummed. “It does. Not that it’s always that way, you know.”

“No, I know.” They’d had a few – a few _used-to-be-he’s_ in their squad who’d had a far worse life than some of the _she’s_ she saw nowadays. Sometimes things were about more than just _boy_ and _girl_. And yet, you could never completely think it away, could you?

“Things rarely get more simple, Polly,” Mal said, sleepily. “That’s the way of the world.”

“I’m starting to see that.”

Mal burrowed a little closer. Polly put her hand on Mal’s neck, stroking her nape with her thumb. “We’re doing sort of alright though, aren’t we?” Polly asked.

“Yes.” Mal turned her head and pressed a kiss to the bit of bare skin peeping out of her neckline. “We are.”

***

The war was ending.

This was, Polly thought, of course a good thing. She’d seen too many dead people, and people with limbs missing, and people with dead eyes and trembling hands and voices hoarse from screaming to believe war was _ever_ a good thing.

But it would mean… Well, they’d all stop being _soldiers_ and turn back into _girls_ , like they had last time. Only this time it would be even worse, because some of those soldiers would go back to being _boys_ , even if they were, actually, girls. And the other way around.

She sidestepped a muddy patch on the road and patted absently for her cigarettes.

People put up with it now because it was the Army, because they needed every more or less able-bodied soldier they had. But once it was peace, well, what reason did they have to call their John Jane, or accept the fact that Maisie was still wearing trousers?

The world didn’t change during a war; life was just put on hold.

Polly stopped patting and frowned. Mal had apparently stolen her cigarettes again. For a supposed subordinate officer Mal sure could be cheeky.

And something else was nagging at the back of her mind…

Someone was humming.

“Stop that,” Polly snapped.

The humming stopped, only to be followed by muted giggling a few moments later. Polly glared over her shoulder. Mal give her a wide, innocent-seeming grin. Polly’s frown deepened and she turned back.

Someone started to whistle.

Polly closed her eyes, pained. “Corporal…”

“ _Tuppence for selling me blanket – ”_ someone whispered.

“I said – ”

“ _If ever I enlist for a soldier again!_ ” Mal bellowed, at the top of her voice.

“ _The devil shall be me sergeant!_ ” the entire squad joined in.

Polly groaned.

***

They’d gone through several renditions of _Johnny Has Gone for a Soldier_ , _The Leaving of Pseudopolis,_ and a flipped version of the Ins-And-Outs favourite song, where a soldier girl runs off with a milk-boy’s socks – guaranteed to get a laugh from the more traditional soldiers and knowing sniggers from the younger crowd.

And they’d just started another round of _The Devil Shall Be My Sergeant_ when they marched into base camp, as if Polly wasn’t infamous enough already.

It wasn’t just that she’d been there at the last peace treaty, or that she’d been the first openly-female Sergeant, or even her next-to-legendary trait of keeping her lads alive. It was… Well, she didn’t know exactly, but according to Mal it had something to do with how she was pretty much unstoppable when it came to things that mattered.

The most stubborn bastard in the army, that was her. And she could live with that.

“You!” she barked at one of the gaping soldiers. “Where’s the quartermaster?”

“Er…” The soldier blinked rapidly, apparently terrified by being addressed by a celebrity. “Centre square.”

“Thank you, Private!” She marched off, her lads following her like a herd of baby ducks.

“ _You’re loving this_ ,” Mal whispered from behind her.

“Don’t be silly,” she hissed back. “I’m not that vain.”

“Look at them. They’re this close to sacrificing things in your honour.”

“They’re not. Shut up.”

Mal’s only response was a softly hummed chorus from _The Devil Shall Be My Sergeant_. Polly glared at her. Mal just smiled.

“One of these days I’m going to put you on latrine duty for insubordination,” Polly growled.

“I would like to see you _try_.”

“Don’t dare me. Now shush.” She sighed and took in the masses of soldiers, walking around like headless chickens. “Let’s find ourselves a place, shall we?”

***

Polly stared at the top sail of her tent and ran through her usual checklist.

Lads? Put in two tents next to her.

Injuries? She’d wangled a hot water bottle for Bunce and his cramps, Pott had gotten a compress for her knee, and Goodbody had spent twenty minutes inhaling herbal damps to help with the cough. She still needed to find some new boots for Jones, though, the poor lad’s feet were a mass of bloody blisters because of badly fitting boots, and he’d been too proud to say anything. But Polly had done all she could for today there. So, what else?

Guards? No need in HQ.

Food? Also, HQ, not her job here.

She closed her eyes and smiled. All in order.

“You’re looking happy.”

Polly opened her eyes. Mal closed the tent behind her and went down to her knees.

“Just satisfaction at a job well done,” Polly said.

“Getting them all back alive? You’ve gotten good at that, yeah.” Mal pulled her boots and socks off and shucked her coat with obvious reluctance. “Gods, once the sun is down it might as well be winter.”

“That’s Borogravia for you,” Polly said absently. “Expect the unexpected.”

“Like sub-zero temperatures after a day of sunstroke-inducing heat?” Mal draped her coat over their bags and crawled over to Polly. “Move over, I’m bloody freezing.”

Polly pulled the blanket back and made room. “You’re a vampire, you’re supposed to not feel the cold.”

“It’s the spirit of the thing.” She nestled against Polly’s side, head in the crook of Polly’s shoulder. Polly absently petted Mal’s short fine hair and continued to stare at the top sail.

After a while, Mal said, “You’re worried.”

“Yes.” She looked down at Mal’s dark head. “What if they’re right? What if I can’t help them?”

“We’ve done the impossible before, you know.”

“But – ”

“Polly.” Mal got up on her elbows. “Let’s just – keep the worrying until we know more, alright? There’s no point now.”

“Easier said than done.”

Mal fell back down, knocking the breath out of Polly. “Think of happy things. Calm things.”

“Doesn’t work like that,” Polly muttered. “I can’t just switch them o- _isthatyourhand_?”

“Yep,” Mal said smugly. “Want me to stop?”

“No-o. No, definitely don’t stop.”

“Sure? Wouldn’t want to distract you.”

“Kee-ep going.”

“How’s the worrying going?”

“What worry?”

***

There was something really satisfying about seeing the way Goodbody gobbled down her eggs and bacon.

The girl had been another runaway from the workhouse. She’d been slightly better off than Tonker and Lofty, or Wazzer, but she’d still been horribly underfed when she joined. Polly had never seen a happier face than Goodbody’s when they put her first proper meal in front of her.

Polly swallowed her last piece of toast and got up, leaving the lads to their gossip. She sniffed deeply, and – aha.

She wandered out of the mess tent and followed the scent of coffee to a nearby tree. “Morning,” she said.

“Morning.” Mal smiled up at her. “Sip?” she asked, holding up her tiny coffee cup.

“No thanks.” Polly’s eyes strayed to Mal’s coffee-stained mouth.

But they were in public, and no matter how accepting the Borogravian Army had become, there were some things that still weren’t tolerated.

“How are they settling in?” Mal asked.

Polly shook herself. “Really well. I think they’re simply enjoying the fact that they can stay in the same place for a bit, you know? And have warm food and clean clothes and a dry place to sleep.”

“Seems like one hell of a luxury after our last few weeks, yes.” Mal started packing her coffee set back in. “No summons yet?”

“No. There are still some bigwigs that haven’t arrived, apparently. So we wait.”

Mal clicked the case shut and straightened up. “So we have free time?” she asked, smiling.

“Seems like it.”

“So what are we going to – ”

“Maladicta?”

Mal froze. Polly turned around, hand on her cutlass.

_Vampire_. Instantly recognisable, even with Polly’s fairly limited experience with vampires. Tall, dark-haired, pale. An almost tangible air of confidence and arrogance and languid amusement. Handsome, she supposed, with high cheekbones and a straight nose, but there was something about him that gave Polly a deep and overwhelming urge to punch him straight in his pretty face.

She glanced aside. Mal had turned around as well, and she’d gone pale, scared. Polly unsheathed her cutlass a few inches, just in case.

“Noc?” Mal said, voice high and trembly.

“What the _hell_ are you wearing?” the vampire said, sounding like he was only a second away from bursting into laughter.

“Her uniform,” Polly said, stepping in front of Mal. “Who the hell are you?”

“Her brother. Who the hell are you?”

“Her _Sergeant_ , and you’re trespassing in a military domain, sir, so I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Oh really? Or _what_?” Noc leaned forward, canines lengthening. Polly’s left hand went to her little sidepocket, where she kept a string of silver chain, just in case.

But then a hand squeezed her arm. “Polly, it’s fine,” Mal said, sounding uncharacteristically meek. “I’ll have a word with him, alright? In private?”

Vampires should _not_ be allowed to make puppy eyes, but that was what Mal was doing. Polly nodded, reluctantly.

“Thanks.” And Mal marched to her brother and grabbed his arm, pulling him along.

Polly lit a cigarette and watched them. Despite the weirdness of the situation, she couldn’t help but smile when she saw Mal and her brother together.

Polly and Shufti and Tonker and the whole lot of them had learned _boy_ from watching the lads in the village. Which meant clumsiness and burping and walking with every limb swinging like it was attached with nothing but a bit of fraying string. But Mal… She had wondered about that, where Mal’s particular brand of _boy_ came from. Mal’s boyishness meant lazy smirking and draping yourself over furniture and striding and winking with a lot more confidence than the village boys would ever have.

And it was now obvious she had stolen that from her brother. Their body language was practically identical. Although Noc’s had an edge to it that Polly didn’t like. Too sharp, too predatory… Mal watched all the time too, but she’d always been more – more _careful_ , more watching out for them than preying on them.

Mal was a sheep dog, Noc was a wolf.

“- can bloody well ask her herself,” Mal said, loud enough that Polly could hear. Polly’s hand went back to her cutlass.

“I’m asking to – ”

“I don’t care!” Mal yelled. “I’m not a pawn in your games anymore! You want to convince her, you try! But I’m not going to be a _fucking_ go-between!”

Polly blinked, mouth hanging open, and tried to remember if she had ever seen Mal this upset. And every protective instinct she had was screaming at her, because Mal upset was – was not going to happen, that’s what.

Polly dropped her cigarette and marched over. “Right,” she said, in her strict-sergeant-voice. “That’s enough.”

Noc’s eyes went to her. They were a shade darker than Mal’s, and a lot colder. “Really?” he asked, smiling.

It was a smile Polly recognised. It was a _you-stupid-little-girl_ smile. Prince Heinrich’s smile.

“Want to know what happened to the last man who took that tone with me?” Polly said, softly.

“Pray tell.”

Polly leaned closer and whispered, “ _I kicked him straight in his socks.”_

Noc blinked, and that moment of confusion was all she needed to pull the silver chain from her pocket. He reared back.

“Now,” she said, dangling the chain right in front of Noc’s face. “Like I said, you’re a civilian on military domain and technically I could have you executed for espionage. So you better have a _damn_ good reason why you’re trespassing. Sir.”

He slowly pulled his cloak aside, showing off his black ribbon. “I’m an envoy for Lady Margolotta,” he said, eyes switching between Polly’s face and the chain in her hand.

“Right,” Polly said, without any idea who this Lady Margolotta was. “Do you have a message? A letter?”

“I was asked to talk to – ”

“High Command? They’re not in yet, so tough luck. Get going.”

He smiled, thinly. “To you, actually.”

Polly took a step back and blinked. “Me?”

“Well, we were hoping we could rely on my sister as a spokesperson, but…”

“If you’ve got anything to say you say it to my face,” Polly snapped. “And I can tell you I’m not easily convinced, and especiallynot by cocky little streaks of _shit_ like you.”

Mal made a choking noise behind her. “Is she always this charming?” Noc asked Mal over Polly’s shoulder.

“Trespassing,” Polly reminded him. “I’m thisclose to getting a stake.”

Noc’s eyes narrowed, but then he breathed out. “I’m merely here to convey a message,” he said, with a visible effort to sound calm and civil. “Extend the hand of friendship, if you will.”

“Shouting at my corporal does not read _friendship_ to me, sir. You’ve got two minutes to say your thing, and then I want you out.”

Noc looked at Mal, whose face had gone cold and frozen, and then back to Polly. “Fine,” he sighed. “Can we talk in private?”

“My tent is just around the corner.” Polly glared at him. “One wrong move, Mr Black Ribboner, and I’ll have you stuffed to the eyeballs with garlic.”

She spun on her heel. Noc followed her in silence.

Polly glanced at Mal again. She’d never seen her look this uneasy. No, not just uneasy: _insecure_. The same look Polly used to have when her mother dressed her down for sinning, back before she realised it was all just lies and nonsense. Mal looked this close to imitating Polly’s old lip-wobble of misery.

It felt wrong. Mal had been her rock for over six years now, a few coffee-absence-induced incidents excepted. Her solid, sarcastic, always present, unflappable rock. Polly didn’t even want to think where she’d be without Mal.

And all that fear simply because of a poncy show-off?

She held the tent open and followed Noc inside. It was a bit cramped with three inside, which Polly was used to, but made Noc look uncomfortable.

“So?” Polly said, once they were all sitting down.

“I’m here on behalf of Lady Margolotta,” he said. “She has been following the proceedings in your country with great interest. Uberwald has always had a historically close connection to Borogravia, and in this current age of… renewed friendships and resolution of old feuds, it seemed to her to be the ideal moment to reinforce this historical bond.”

Polly blinked and tried to decipher. _Old feuds_ , that was Koom Valley, even here they’d heard about that. And _historical bond_ just meant that Borogravia used to be part of Uberwald before it became an independent Duchy. But what would _reinforce_ mean?

“I see,” Polly said slowly. “And how does she envision this reinforcement?” See, she could do posh talk as well.

Noc smiled. “Of course Uberwald wouldn’t _dream_ of encroaching on Borogravia’s independence. What Lady Margolotta had in mind was more something of a… let’s call it a guiding presence. She’s very experienced in government matters, after all, and since it seems Borogravia is heading for peace again…”

Polly glared at him. He used far too many suggestive pauses for her liking – political talk, all vague promises and euphemisms and no bloody clarity.

“Not sure why you come to me for that,” Polly said bluntly. “I’m just a sergeant.”

“A very _influential_ sergeant.” Noc smiled again. It really wasn’t a pleasant smile. “Come now, Polly. We both know that at the right time, in the right place, one person can make a tremendous difference.”

_Polly_. Polly’s skin crawled.

“So your lady Margolotta wants to rule Borogravia by proxy of me, does she?” Polly said flatly.

Noc laughed. “That’s very crudely put! Of course not. Lady Margolotta has no ulterior motives at all, I can assure you. She merely wants to help you in a task that is quite likely to be above and beyond your capacities.”

Polly stilled.

Noc seemed to realise he had said something wrong. He looked at Mal, then back at Polly, suddenly a bit less suavely confident.

“All my life,” Polly said, voice ice cold, “people have told me what I can’t do. And I’ve gone on and done exactly that. So you can take this message to your lady Margolotta.” She leaned closer, keeping eye-contact. “ _I’m not interested_. We can manage on our own. And she can keep her grubby little paws off our country. Now _get out_ before I have you arrested.”

“I see.” Noc stood up and looked at Mal. “It’s sad to see your tastes still haven’t improved, sis. Let’s hope this one stays alive a bit longer than the last one, shall we?”

And he turned and left, sweeping his cloak behind him.

Polly breathed out, fists clenched. “Of all the conceited, arrogant, _stupid_ little – ” She turned her head and stopped mid-sentence. “Mal? Are you alright?”

Mal nodded. “It’s just – ” She waved her hand, face twisted, and made a sound that could, maybe, be a sob. “ _Family_ , you know? They know exactly how to, where to – ” She broke off again.

Polly stared. She wasn’t big on comforting. She could manage the occasional comforting pat or cuddle for home-sick new recruits, but those were, well, her _lads_. Of course she could comfort them. But Mal…

There’d just never been a need. Unless you counted sitting on her those few times coffee rationing got messed up and she got a really bad case of the no-coffee jitters.

Polly scooted over and tentatively put a hand on Mal’s thigh. Mal sniffed.

Something inside Polly died a little.

“I’m…” Polly cleared her throat. Mal peeked up at her. “Are you…” _Sod this_ , she thought. “Is there anything I can do?”

“You’ve already…” Mal reached out and squeezed her hand. “Just be here, for a bit. Be _you_.”

Polly smiled, wanly, and scooted a little closer. Her side pressed close against Mal’s, just like when they were standing watch together. “Fine. I can do that.”

Mal leaned her head onto Polly’s shoulder and simply stayed silent. No big sloppy dramatic tears for Mal, apparently.

After a bit Polly put her arm around Mal and held the back of her head.

“So,” Mal said, eventually.

“So. Sorry, but your brother’s an arsehole.”

“Yeah, he is.” Mal gave a strange little hiccough of a laugh. “You were amazing, though. I don’t think anyone’s ever spoken to Noc like that.”

“It shows,” Polly said darkly. “And what kind of stupid name is _Noc_ anyway?”

“Short for Nocebor.” Mal wiped a hand over her eyes. “Vampires, you know.”

“So Margolotta…”

“Vampire too. A famous, powerful, very old one.” She sat up. “One of the first Black Ribboners as well. Really big in political circles.”

“And she wanted to talk to _me_?”

“Apparently.” Mal gave her a smile. “You were the mascot last time. You’ve gained one hell of a reputation over the last few years. And you know people. It makes sense, really, when you think about it.”

Polly rubbed her forehead. “It’s going to give me a bloody headache.”

“Probably, yes. On the other hand, this might be the kind of opportunity we were hoping for. A way to make a difference for the lads, make sure they’re okay even after the war.”

Polly looked up. “You think I should have accepted the offer?”

“No-o. But you might use it in the future. I’m pretty sure she’ll be back. She’s a centuries-old vampire, patience is kind of what she does.”

Something about the way Mal said… Polly cocked her head. “Have you ever met her?”

“Once. She put me into contact with the Black Ribboners in Ankh-Morpork.” Mal smiled. “She’s very… impressive.”

“Impressive?”

“Yeah. Impressive. So, since we have time off, we’re not going to spend it in this tent, are we? Unless you – ”

“Tempted as I am, that’s probably not a good idea in broad daylight, with people everywhere.” Polly hopped up and pulled Mal up as well. “Let’s find the lads, see what they’re up to. I get fidgety when I haven’t seen them for too long.”

Mal smiled. “You’re such a mother-hen.”

“Or a father to my men.” She cocked her head and watched Mal.  “Mal?”

“Yes?” Mal said, far too casual to be natural.

“What he said about keeping me alive…”

Mal’s shoulders went up, tense. “Not now, Polly, alright? Just – later, some day, but not now.”

“Okay.” Polly nodded. “Okay. Mal?”

“Yes?”

“You know I…”

Mal smiled at her, tiredly. “Yes, Polly. I know. Thank you.”

“Yeah.” Polly wiped her hands on her thighs. And then she leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Mal’s forehead.

Mal blinked.

“Alright, corporal,” Polly said, grinning, before Mal could say anything. “Let’s find our squad.”

***

They joined the lads for lunch and spent some time simply lying on the grass and watching clouds. A few of the lads shared some old stories. Polly listened with half-lidded eyes, committing them all to memory.

Eventually they started up a game of football with a pig’s bladder someone had nicked from the kitchen. Polly watched from the shade, Mal dozing against her shoulder, while her lads fooled around, and tried very hard not to think about how this might all end very very soon.

“Timkin?”

Polly looked up.  Gammidge had frozen in the middle of the little field, staring at someone out of Polly’s sight. Polly elbowed Mal in the side and she woke with a snort.

“Timkin Snorison?” Gammidge slowly started to smile. Family? Although that name didn’t sound like it was local.

“Richard Gammidge!” a voice piped up, and Polly stood up and reached for her cutlass for the second time today.

But then the lads parted and Polly could finally see Timkin Snorison. And her hand dropped.

“It’s, er… It’s Susan now, Timkin,” Gammidge said, in that typical worried, timid tone of the recently-switched.

“Oh. Okay then,” Timkin the dwarf said cheerfully. “It’s good to see you again, Susan!”

An elbow hit Polly’s side. She blinked and looked aside at Mal. “Stop staring,” Mal hissed.

“It’s a dwarf!”

“Yes, I did notice that, but thanks for mentioning it anyway!”

“A _dwarf_.”

“Yes, Perks. Get it together, one of your lads needs you.”

“An actual _dwa_ \- oh right.” She stepped up next to Gammidge and looked down at Timkin. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, Sarge,” Gammidge said, smiling broadly. “This is Timkin Snorison. I used to live at the border, see, where the Dwarf colonies used to be?”

Before an attack from some overzealous Nugganites chased them away, if Polly remembered correctly. Dwarfs were an abomination to Nuggan, of course, which made Polly already predisposed to like them.

“We used to be childhood friends!” Gammidge continued. “Oh, and Timkin, this is my sergeant, Polly Perks.”

Timkin’s eyes focused on her, with a strangely shrewd expression. “It’s an honour, Sergeant. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Really?” Polly asked, narrowing her eyes.

“What are you doing here anyways, Tim?” Gammidge asked.

“Actually, er, I was hoping to have a word with your sergeant, actually?”

Polly exchanged a look with Mal. “In private?” she asked.

“Yes, please,” Timkin said, sounding relieved.

“Alright. Gammidge, I’m going to steal your friend for a bit. I promise to get him – ” she glanced at Timkin. _Him_? He didn’t seem to protest. “- back to you in one piece.”

She turned on her heel and led Timkin to her tent. Mal fell into step beside her, radiating tension.

“Alright,” Polly said once they had all settled down. “Who do you work for?”

“The Low King sent me.” The dwarf hesitated, then added, “The Low Queen, I should say.”

“Oh.”

She vaguely remembered some noise about that, a year or so back. But the nuances of it had escaped her. Mal had seemed pretty excited by it, though.

“And what does Blodwen Rhysdottir want?” Mal asked sharply.

“He – _She_ is very interested in the work you’ve been doing here. Anyone can see the similarities between the recent revolution in Dwarf politics and your… efforts.”

“Well, that’s great of her,” Polly said. “What does she want?”

Timkin blinked. “Er, she – she just wants to offer her support. Share our experiences, how to adapt laws, deal with conservative elements, that sort of thing. And if, of course, there should ever arise a situation where you could use some… support, you only have to let us know.”

“Right,” Polly said, coldly. “And what does she expect in return for this… _support_?”

“Nothing, of course!” Timkin said hurriedly. “It’s just a sign of goodwill, and we hope the goodwill would be, er, mutual…” He trailed off.

“Mr Snorison," Polly said, once again falling back on her trusty old strict-sergeant-voice. “I do not play games. Tell your Queen that I’m glad to hear she’s standing up for girls who are boys and men who are women and everything in between as well, and that I wish her the best of luck with it. But she’s not going to buy my loyalty.”

“That was not our intention!” Timkin smiled, shakily. “Please, consider it. And forgive me if the terms I used were offensive. We merely want to sow the seeds of friendship.”

“If she wants to be friends, she can send me a tin of biscuits. Or some decent uniforms for the lads. Not a diplomatic envoy full of ambiguous messages.”

Timkin raised his hands, placating. “Sergeant Perks,” he said, “There is nothing ambiguous about this. There… might be in the future, true, but right now, it’s just… Consider it reconnaissance.”

“Checking out the ground before starting to lay the road, you mean?” Polly got up. “Yeah, I’ll think about it. And Mr Snorison?”

“Yes?”

“Why didn’t you go to the High Command? To the people who are _actually in charge_?”

Timkin smiled. “ _Being in charge_ is a complicated thing. I’m going to see some of the Generals in a few days, since you ask. But it’s important to – to hear the voice of the people as well.”

“I’m not the people.”

Timkin shrugged. “You’ve got to start somewhere. Sergeant Perks, thank you for your time.”

Polly held her tent open. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help. Are you staying here?”

“Yes, I’ve arranged a stay nearby. Why?”

“Well…If anyone gives you grief, come to me. Some of the older soldiers can be a bit – “

“Crude?”

“Stupid.”

He smiled again. “I’m used to people being… _stupid_. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to spend some time with Susan.”

“Be my guest.” Polly waved him through and watched him bob through the crowds of soldiers. They stared, but didn’t say anything.

“Was it me,” Polly said, watching the retreating dwarf, “or did he sound like he was parroting someone else’s words sometimes?”

“I think you heard Rhysdottir there.” Mal chewed her lip. “It’s worth considering, though. We’re going to need all the allies we can get, and the Low Queen is very forward-thinking. And powerful.”

“As powerful as Lady Margolotta?”

Mal winced.

“It’s politics, and I’m fed up with it. We’re not going to be pawns, Mal.”

“We don’t want to caught in a power struggle between those two either.”

“Hm.” Polly closed the tent and dropped down, legs folded beneath her. “So, the Low Queen?”

“Used to be the Low King.” Mal sat down as well. “Up until a few years back, all dwarfs where _he’s_ , regardless of what they had underneath all that chainmail. But then there was a bit of a revolution – similar to here, actually – and some dwarfs starting to be – well, to want to be addressed as _she’s_. It was quite a scandal.”

“So the Low Queen…”

“Made a very ballsy move a few months back.”

Polly fiddled with the laces on her boots. “Did you notice?” she said suddenly. “When Gammidge told him, he just – shrugged and accepted. Called her Susan just there, too, no hesitation.”

“Well, if he’s close to the Queen, he’s probably used to that sort of thing,” Mal said. She was watching Polly rather closely.

“It’s good,” Polly said, slowly. “That. Acceptance. We need that.”

“I know. But you think…”

“I don’t know.” Polly leaned back and sighed, closing her eyes. “I honestly don’t know. And it shouldn’t be – I mean, I’m just a sergeant, for fuck’s sake.”

“Ye-es, but you’re a sergeant who knows people.”

Polly cracked one eye open and glared at Mal. “I just want… some peace, Mal.”

Mal’s face softened. “I know. But it’s got to be peace worth keeping, right?”

“Yes.” Polly swivelled around and laid back down, head in Mal’s lap. “Yes, I know, and if you got a job to do you do it and there’s no sense in whining about it. I just wish I had a better idea _how_ to do it. I don’t know a thing about politics.”

“You’ll do _fine_ , Polly,” Mal said, stroking her hair.

Polly looked at Mal’s upside-down face. Mal smiled.

“You always do.”

***

“Boots!”

They landed with a heavy thud on the grass. “Ooh, bless you Sarge,” Jones said, grinning. He pulled off the ridiculous lumpy socks Pott had given him as a temporary measure and pulled the boots on.

Polly dropped down cross-legged next to him. “Fit?”

“Perfect, Sarge. Thanks.” The lad gave her a beaming smile which she couldn’t help but return.

“But Jason,” she pulled a stern face, “next time something like this happens you _tell me_ , alright?”

“I didn’t want to complain, Sarge,” Jones said, looking down at his new boots. “Didn’t want you to think…”

“That’s just silly. You can tell me anything, Jason. I won’t think any less of you.”

Jones continued to study his new boots. Polly leaned back on her hands and stared at the setting sun.

Sometimes silence was all you needed.

“Sarge…” Jones said after a while.

Now they had it. “Yes Jason?”

“You know how, when Sue joined, she was still Richard? And then she…” Jason trailed off again.

Polly gave him a kind smile. “Want to be a she too, Jase?”

“I’m… not sure?” Poor Jones had gone the colour of their uniforms. “I mean, I like wearing the trousers, but I also like the look of the skirts. And I don’t – I never was like the other boys, didn’t like to look at girls or…” He hesitated again, looking miserable. “I’m not sure if I should be saying this, Sarge.”

“Say it anyway. I’m not going to be cross, Jase. Or think any less of you, I told you. I’ve already seen how brave you can be.”

Jones smiled weakly. He chewed his lip for a bit, staring at the ground. “I’m…” A deep, shaky breath. “I think I like boys, Sarge. I mean, the way boys are supposed to like girls.”

Oh, so _that_ was it. “Jason, that’s – ”

“Except I’m not sure if I want to be a boy or a girl myself,” Jones rushed. “And it’s all just…” He sniffled, then looked up at her with big blue eyes. “Am I _wrong_ , Sarge?”

Polly’s heart exploded.

That was what it felt like, anyway. It wasn’t the first time it happened. She’d had it before, that fiery feeling of protective fury, like she would tear the world apart if that was what it took, to make them feel safe, protected. To make them stop feeling like she used to, scared and alone and _little_.

The lads called it her battle rage. But it was a lot easier to handle if the enemies were on the other side of the field, rather than inside of someone’s head. Or inside other people’s heads.

“ _No_ ,” Polly said, forcing herself to be calm. But something showed, because Jones suddenly looked a bit daunted.

Polly got up on her knees in front of Jones and took his jaw. “You’re not wrong,” she said slowly. “There is _nothing_ wrong about you. Or what you’re feeling.”

“No?” Jones asked. His lip was wobbling.

“No,” Polly said, decisively. “Nothing. It’s alright to like boys and not girls, and it’s alright to like both, or neither, or only some of them. And it’s _definitely_ alright not to be sure about it all yet.” She took a deep breath. “Alright, Jase? It’s all okay.”

Jones nodded. He sniffed again and wiped his sleeve across his eyes. “Yes Sarge.”

“Want to try it out for a bit?” Polly asked. “Put on the skirt, try out a new name? You can still go back if it isn’t for you. And if anyone gives you grief for it they’ll have to face me.”

Jones gave a shaky smile. “I’m – I don’t know, Sarge. Maybe… Maybe in the future, but not now?” He gave her a hopeful look. “I’d like to… think about it a bit first.”

“Sure.” Polly squeezed his shoulder. “But don’t just think. Talk about it. No one here is going to laugh at you, Jase, or hate you for it or anything. And it helps to sort things out.”

“Yeah.” The shaky smile returned. “It’s just doing me head in, Sarge. It’s all so _complicated_.”

“I know. But…” Polly looked aside. There was a slim figure lounging in the distance. “But sometimes it’s really simple as well. It’s just other people making it complicated. And once you realise that, you’ll be alright.” She hopped to her feet and gave Jones a hand up. “So, Jase, it’s really alright to be a bit confused, and trying to work it all out for a bit first. It really is.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Okay. Thanks, Sarge.”

Polly smiled at him. “That’s what I’m here for.”

***

“Where did you find that?”

Polly looked up. Mal was looming over her, outlined against the bright full moon.

“Nicked it from the Command Centre.” She turned back to the map. “Or borrowed it. Do you know anything about the Low Kingdom? How the mines run?”

“No.” Mal sat down next to her and peered at the map. “No one does, as far as I know. Are those the railroads?”

“Yep.” Polly ran her finger over the pencilled lines. “Had to put them in myself, copied from a sketch. We have no good recent maps, apparently.”

“I’m not surprised. So, come to any conclusions?”

“Not really. Unless everyone’s suddenly invested in Borogravia exporting chocolate again.” Polly sighed and pressed her hands into her lower back. “I’ve been thinking in circles, Mal.”

“Then it’s time for bed.”

“Good idea.” Polly rolled the map back up and got to her feet. “Funny how you always forget to take your own advice, isn’t it?”

“You’re just too bloody stubborn for your own good, Perks.”

They strolled away. Most of the soldiers had already retreated to their tents, although here and there you could see a lit campfire, or a rustle in the bushes.

Polly took a right, but Mal grabbed her arm. “No, not that way,” she said.

“Why?”

“Jones and Bunce are canoodling behind the tent.”

“Really?” Polly tried to peek around the corner. Mal slapped her shoulder.

“ _Yes_ , so give them some privacy.”

“Well, how do you know, then?”

“Heartbeats. Going very rapidly, given that they’re not really moving.”

Polly grinned. “Good on them.”

“Yeah. Go on, let’s go the other way. Let them canoodle to their heart’s content.”

They turned to the left. “As long as no one else bumps into them and reports it,” Polly said, suddenly a little worried.

“They won’t. There’s a sort of unspoken code about that sort of thing, you know that. As long as they don’t do anything too public – ”

“- everyone pretends not to see.” Polly frowned. “That’s not right, you know.”

“No, it isn’t.” Mal shrugged. “One thing at the time, Polly. Anyway, was that what your talk with Jones was about? Love advice?”

“No. The other stuff. You might want to have a word with him.”

Mal raised an eyebrow. “What can I say that you can’t say?”

“Personal experience. I think he’s… you know, not either-or.”

“Oh.”

They walked in silence for a bit. “Sometimes this really makes my head hurt, you know,” Mal said.

“Even vampires get stress headaches? I feel a lot better now.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get too smug.”

“I – ” Polly’s step faltered, for just a second. Then she ambled on.

“Is there a threat?” Mal asked, carefully casual. Clever, observant Mal.

“Maybe. Shadows?”

Mal sniffed deeply. “Yep. Human, slightly nervous. Might be from Ankh-Morpork, there’s something cabbagy about their smell.”

“Okay. You take the back.”

Mal nodded. They parted ways. Polly casually strolled to the edge of the forest and stared at the trees, like she was lost in thought. Now where…

A flash of something too-black caught her eye. And Mal would be prowling across the forest, approaching from the other side, so she just had to wait for the signal…

Mal’s fake bird-squawk tore the silence apart and Polly pounced. Her arm slammed into a hard torso. A hand raised to hit her but Mal popped up and bent the arm backwards, effectively trapping whoever it was.

Polly took a deep breath and looked at her prisoner. All in black, even with a hood. She pulled the hood off.

Inside was a woman with a remarkably unremarkable face.

“Try anything and I’ll let my corporal loose on you,” Polly said.

The woman looked over her shoulder at Mal. “You’re a Black Ribboner.”

“I’ve also been in a war for six years. Trust me, I know _many_ ways to kill someone without breaking my vows. Or hurt someone very, _very_ much.” Mal smiled. Her teeth glinted in the dark.

The woman turned back to Polly, face pale and drawn.

“Let me guess,” Polly said. “You wanted to have a word in private?”

The woman smiled, uneasily. “Ah, well. I was sent here primarily to observe, actually. The actual talking-in-private would be done by someone a bit more presentable.”

“Observe for who?”

“Lord Vetinari. He’s – ”

“Very interested in the evolutions here and wants to offer his support?”

The woman grinned again. “I think he’d prefer waiting to see whether there’s any point in offering support.”

“Why?”

“I…”

Mal growled, very softly. The woman sighed.

“Fine. With the railroad the world has grown a lot smaller, Miss Perks.”

“Sergeant.”

“Sergeant Perks. And your country happens to be in a very interesting strategical position. What happens here could have far-reaching consequences. Hence all the interest.” She smiled again. “Although I personally think you’re better off with Vetinari, if you have to choose a side.”

“I don’t want to pick a side.”

“You’ll have to.”

Polly gave Mal a quick look. Her face was carefully impassive. “And why should I choose Vetinari?” Polly asked, turning back to the woman. “Why is he _better_?”

“He isn’t.” The woman smiled again. “But he, unlike his colleagues, is being watched very _very_ closely.”

“Watched? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“By the press. And by Old Stoneface, of course. Vimes has already once arrested the Patrician, didn’t you hear?”

Polly nodded at Mal, who let go of the woman, and took a step back. “No matter the reason,” she said flatly, “you’re still a spy. Scarper back to your boss and tell him what you’ve seen, but if I catch you here after dawn I’m turning you in. Got it?”

“Of course.” The woman gave her a small nod and pulled her hood back on. She turned, then stopped and turned back. “Sergeant?”

“Yes?”

The woman’s blue eyes shone from the eyeholes in the hood. “You’re doing very important work. Don’t give up.”

But before Polly could reply she had taken off.

Polly met Mal’s eyes. “Don’t,” she said, tiredly. “Not right now. I just…”

“Bed,” Mal said. “Sleep on it. The moral dilemmas will still be here in the morning.”

“Unfortunately.” Polly took Mal’s arm and they strolled back to the camp.

 ***

Polly woke up several hours after dawn, which was not her habit.

“You looked like you could use it,” Mal said idly. She threw Polly’s uniform trousers in her face. “I told the kitchens to put aside some breakfast for you.”

“Thanks.” She got into her trousers. “What are you up to?”

“Some of the lads in another squad asked me if I could show them some moves,” Mal said, taking her cutlass. “You don’t mind?”

“No, go ahead, socialise.”

“Network, you mean?” Mal asked sharply.

Polly rubbed her forehead. “You know what? I don’t even know anymore.”

Mal bent down and kissed her forehead. “Don’t overthink, Perks. It solves nothing.”

“Thanks.” She gave Mal’s hip a small push. “Go on, Corporal, don’t keep the lads waiting.”

Mal threw her a salute and left the tent.

Polly buttoned her shirt. She still had a bit of a headache. She’d been lying awake for too long, thinking, running over all possibilities. The Low Queen, Lady Margolotta, Vetinari, the High Command...

And it always came to the same thing: Borogravia couldn’t manage on its own. So they needed help. But help came at a price, and giving up their independence would just, eventually, lead to another war. Starting the whole bloody cycle over again.

_I know people_. But what good did that do if you didn’t even know yourself what was the best thing to do?

She got out of the tent. The sun was shining high and bright. More than one soldier was wandering around with parts of their uniforms missing because of the heat. On the whole, the camp looked more like a village fete than a military encampment – laughter, people lying stretched out in the shade, games and fooling around…

Peace. So that’s what it looked like.

The smell of tobacco hit her nose. She made a little detour to the smoking soldier and snapped her fingers. “Give us a cigarette.”

The soldier gave her a confused look.

“A cigarette, Private,” Polly snapped.

“I don’t speak Borogravian,” he said. In Morporkian.

Polly did a little doubletake. She had assumed the soldier was one of theirs, because the general dented and patched-up state of his uniform was pretty typical for your average Borgravian military ma- person. On the other hand, now she looked closer... Most soldiers here didn't wear old-fashioned breastplates like that, and she was pretty sure none of them walked around with bare knees either.

“Who are you, then?” Polly asked, switching languages.

“Sergeant Haddock.” He saluted, rather sloppily.

“With which army?”

“No army. I’m a policeman, Sergeant, not a soldier.”

“Right,” Polly said, pokerfaced. _Policeman_. Hadn’t Mal once mentioned something about that? But…

The man smiled. “Maybe you would be willing to – or… er. Are _you_ Sergeant Perks, by any chance?”

“I am,” she said, slowly. “What of it?”

“Can we have a word in private? I’m here as a – ” He looked around, then lowered his voice a little. “A sort of diplomatic envoy, if you want.”

“Another one?”

“Sorry?”

“Never mind.” She jerked her chin. “Go to my tent – ask the lads which one it is – and wait there, I’ll be with you in a bit.”

She strode off, in long confident strides, until she was out of sight. Then she started to run.

_Lads of another squad_ , but she hadn’t specified. She could be hiding anywhere in the camp, and the camp was bloody huge.

Polly skidded to a halt and looked around, scanning the groups of soldiers all around. No short slim figure around – or rather, plenty of short slim figures, but not the one she was looking for.

There _was_ something going on, though. She went to tiptoe and peered over the crowd - being on the tall side for a girl had its advantages - but even before she could see anything she heard the tell-tale shouts and the heated cheers from the people watching.

A fight. Well, bollocks. No matter how urgent her business, she was still a sergeant, and she couldn’t just walk past that.

Polly waded through the crowd and pushed her way to the two fighters. “Alright, that’s enough,” she barked. She grabbed the shoulder of both soldiers and pulled them apart. One of them was a big, muscled man, one of the older generation of soldiers, and the other was –

“Gobbins?” Polly said, staring in disbelief at the thin little girl. She must be at most half the weight of the other.

“He said bad things about Sue and Tom and Eddie, sarge,” Gobbins squeaked. Her eyes were on fire. Polly was forcibly reminded of Tonker and Lofty, all of a sudden. Seemed like the girl had finally found her fighting spirit.

“Right. Still doesn’t mean you can just attack him, Gobbins, that solves nothing. Two days latrine service.”

“Yessarge,” Gobbins said. Not stammering, Polly noted absently, even when addressed by a pissed-off superior officer. She was doing well.

“And _you_.” She turned to the other soldier, who took two quick steps back. “I’ll have a word with your superior officer, and you better hope your record is squeaky clean or you’re looking at a demotion, got it?”

“Yessarge,” he said, pale and shocked.

“And if I ever catch you bad-mouthing any of my squad again you're _out_. Now get out of my sight.”

The crowd dispersed. Polly grabbed Gobbins' shoulder before she could run off as well.

“Sarge?” the girl said. Still not frightened.

“Well done, Liz,” she said, softly. “I’m proud of you.”

The girl beamed. “Thanks sarge!”

“But be more careful in the future, yeah? Now, have you seen Corporal Maladict?”

“Last seen ‘im in the training grounds, Sarge,” she said. “East side, near the edge of the forest.”

“Thanks,” Polly said. She gave Gobbins one last smile and then ran off again.

She found Mal in the middle of about a dozen soldiers, giving a hands-on lecture about proper holds. As soon as she saw Polly, she gave the soldier she was demonstrating on a pat on the shoulder and left them to their practice. She sauntered over, hands in her pockets.

“Sarge,” she said lazily. “How are – ” And then she suddenly straightened up and lost the indolent air. “What’s wrong?”

Polly doubled over, breathing hard. “What do you – ” deep breath – “know about – ” another deep breath – “policemen?”

“Er… Watchmen? Why?”

Polly straightened up again. “Just answer the question.”

Mal blinked. “Er… It’s like a – an organisation of people who make sure the laws are obeyed. So if someone is doing something against the law, they can stop them. Arrest them.”

Polly frowned. “Like those Nugganites who drag girls out of their homes and shave their heads for being too – ”

“No-o. Well, it isn’t supposed to be like that, but if the country’s really bad… It depends on the law, I suppose.”

“Law? And come with me, tell me while we’re walking.”

“Alright.” She turned and yelled over her shoulder,“Keep going lads, you’re doing fine.”

“Are they?” Polly asked as they walked away.

“Yeah, they’re not half bad. Especially with a few nudges here and there.”

“Good. So, laws?”

Mal fell into step at her elbow. “Right, laws. Like the book of Nuggan, really, only – less insane? Mostly it’s just things like _don’t kill people_ and _don’t take other people’s stuff_ and things. It’s supposed to be separate from religion – I know it is in Ankh-Morpork.”

“But who writes the laws?”

“Not sure. Learned people? The Patrician? They can’t just be changed at a whim, though. There’s a whole process. So you can’t just make up a new law on the spot or anything.”

“Right.” She frowned. “So these – _watchmen_ make sure everyone obeys the law, right?”

“Yes. Well, it’s more like they try to find people who broke the law. Polly, what’s – ”

“So how? How does it happen?”

Mal squinted at her. “Er… Imagine someone nicks some of your stuff, and you’ve seen him but he’s run off before you got him. So you go to the police and tell them, and they’ll come around and investigate.”

“Investigate?”

“Ask questions, look for clues, that sort of thing. And if they’ve got enough evidence pointing to one person, they’ll arrest them.”

“And punish them.”

“No-o. He’s put on trial. All the evidence against him is laid out, and all the evidence _in favour_ of him as well, and then a judge – that’s a person who knows a lot about the law – decides if it’s really proven without a doubt that he’s the one who did it.”

“And then they punish him.”

“Yep. Although it’s mostly imprisonment or work punishments. And death for some of the really bad crimes. So no… chopping off hands or shaving hair or anything like that.”

“Hmm…”

They stopped in front of Polly’s tent. “Going to tell me what’s going on now?” Mal asked patiently.

“I’ve got a watchman in my tent. From Ankh-Morpork. Says he’s a diplomatic envoy.”

“Oh.” Mal looked at the tent, then back at Polly. “Want me in?”

“No. But hang around, listen in, will you?”

Mal saluted and sauntered over to a tree at the back of the tent. Polly took a deep breath, then entered. “Sorry about that,” she said, briskly.

“No problem,” Haddock said. He was sitting cross-legged on her sleeping bag, looking around with interest.

“So.” Polly sat down opposite of him, on Mal’s sleeping bag. “You wanted to talk?”

“Yes. We wanted to know – ”

“ _We_?” Polly asked sharply.

“Yes. Erm, the Watch in general. Sam Vimes specifically. So, er, we wondered if you’d be interested in creating a Watch in Borogravia.”

She stared at him. “A Watch.”

“Yes. There are a lot of cities that have a Watch based on the Ankh-Morpork model of policing, these days. We send a watchman over there, let him or her teach the local watchmen until they’ve got the hang of it, and then it spreads. There are Sammies all over the place, now.”

“And you want to…”

“Well, only if you agree,” Haddock said hastily. “This isn’t some hostile take-over. But the idea is to plant a watchman here – that’s me, by the way – and let him teach you the ways of coppering. Give you a bit of help starting up, and then once you’ve got the hang of it, I’d bugger off again. I did a year or two in Quirm, doing just that.”

“Spreading the word,” Polly said.

“I… suppose? It’s more like sharing experience, really. The Quirmian Watch certainly still does things their way. Just with a bit of Vimes mixed in as well.”

Polly crossed her arms and glared at Haddock. He looked a bit uncomfortable.

None of the other envoys had looked uncomfortable. Too poker-faced for that.

“What’s your opinion on boys and girls, Sergeant Haddock?” Polly asked.

“Er, sorry?” the man said, clearly thrown.

“Boys and girls. The way we do it. You must have heard the stories by now. Or seen the different uniforms, the different people wearing them. Like my corporal. Or sergeant Humphries, who, yes, is currently wearing both a skirt and a beard.”

“Oh. Well, hadn’t given it much thought, truth be told.” He shrugged. “The Ankh-Morpork Watch has loads of women, and dwarfs, and basically any species you can think of. And they all wear the same uniform – well, more or less.” He grinned. “And corporal Nobbs wears plenty of dresses in his free time and no one makes fun of him. Well, not for _that_ , anyways.”

Polly tilted her head, studying the man in front of her.

She had learned to rely on her instincts. The same instincts that had been _screaming_ at her when she had talked to Nocebor, that had squinted suspiciously at Timkin Snorison, that had listened carefully to the spy in the woods, were now sending up approving signals. Haddock was _honest_. Which was odd. Who sent an honest man as a diplomatic envoy?

The same person who sent Samuel Vimes to sort out a war. He was a Watchman too, apparently. And he had looked her straight in the eyes and asked her what she wanted and had _listened_.

“Why are you asking me this, Sergeant?” she asked. “This is a matter for the High Command.”

“With respect, Sergeant,” Haddock said, patiently, “but no, it isn’t. Policing is about the people, not the army. If you mix those two up, it all goes wrong.”

“I’m not _the people,_ " Polly said, exasperated. Where did people keep getting that idea?

“You’re one of the closest things we’ve got. Certainly better than the generals. And you’ve got enough influence to be able to make things like this happen, if you want.”

“It’s not about me,” Polly said irritably. “I shouldn’t be deciding this.”

“Well, no, probably not.”

Polly’s head snapped up. “Sorry?”

“Having one person decide the fate of a country? That’s dangerous. But that’s – well, that’s the way it is now, and you can’t change it. Yet.” Haddock frowned. “You know, one of the Watch mottos is _you do the job that’s in front of you_. You deal with what you’ve got on your plate, and don’t try to shove it to someone else for them to deal with.” He blinked. “Er, sorry. That’s not very respectful of me.”

“No, it’s fine.” Polly stood up. “Look, Sergeant Haddock. I’ll think about it.”

“Right, thank you.” He held out his hand. Polly shook it. He had a very firm grip. “You know where to find me, once you’ve made a decision.”

“I do.” She held the tent open. “Find the quartermaster – harassed looking man, wearing a skirt, definitely a man, call him a _her_ and you’ll end up sleeping in the stables – and ask for a place to sleep. And keep quiet about this, yeah?”

“Of course. Thank you for your time.”

He went off. Polly kept holding the tent open. A few seconds later Mal popped up from behind the corner. She ducked inside the tent and sat down.

“Interesting.” She focused dark eyes on Polly. “Best offer so far, if you ask me.”

“I know. Wouldn’t work, though. Oh, by the way: Sammies?”

Mal smiled. “After Sam Vimes. You remember him, don’t you?”

Polly did remember Vimes. She’d been thinking a lot about him, actually, the last few weeks. Him and his visibly female sergeant and his no-nonsense way of dealing with things. “I thought he was a military man, but... Haddock said military and police are separate, so he can't be both, can he?”

“Vimes _isn’t_ a military man. He’s a policeman – _the_ policeman, actually. He’s responsible for taking what was left of the Watch in Ankh-Morpork and turning it into a proper force. I’ve heard a lot of things about the Watch.”

“Good?”

“Very good. So, why wouldn’t it work?”

Polly sighed. “We’re too proud. Some foreigner, some _Morporkian_ coming over here, telling how to run our business? He’d get kicked out within two weeks. Or worse.” She ran a hand over her face. “Bloody pride.”

“Literally.”

“Although…” Polly stared at the sleeping bag.

Mal cocked her head. “What are you up to, Polly?” she asked, slowly.

“Not sure yet. Thinking.”

“Hm. Have you had breakfast yet?”

“What?” Polly blinked up. “No.”

“Alright, let’s go get some food in you, then.”

***

All her lads were sitting at one table in the canteen. They made room for her instantly as she entered the tent, and Jones squeezed even _closer_ to Bunce. They practically looked like they'd been glued together.

“Still a _he_ , Jones?” Polly bellowed.

“Mostly, Sarge!” Jones replied smartly. “And Bunce doesn't mind either way, Sarge!”

Polly exchanged a quick look with Mal. “Good for you. But…” She lowered her voice. “Be discreet.”

“Oh,” Jones said, his face falling a little. “Yes, Sarge. We’ll be careful.”

Bunce nodded along earnestly. “We’re not stupid, Sarge.”

“I hope not! The Cheesemongers don’t accept stupid lads, do they!”

“ _No Sarge!_ ” her entire squad yelled back.

She grinned and started eating, watching them.

Bunce and Jones, cuddled up together. Gobbins, still blushing proudly, recounting her fight. Pott, listening with a huge grin on her face, her knee forgotten for the moment. Gammidge having an earnest discussion with Diggle about which socks worked best, cotton or wool. And Goodbody, happily stealing food from Pott’s plate, until Pott noticed and playfully smacked her fingers.

That was what she hated about politics. It was all so vague and theoretical, but the _effects_ were real. Bunce, Gammidge, and Diggle risked having to pretend to be something they weren’t for the rest of their lives. Jones would never be able to be with the person he loved. Gobbins would go back to the family that beat her more than it fed her. Pott would have to start begging again. And Goodbody…

Polly owed them. That was the truth of it. If she took the wrong decision her lads – and not just these ones, all the others she’d had under her wings the last few years, and even the rest of them, the ones she’d never met but had dared to be themselves because of the example she had set - they would all suffer. It was a terrifying thought.

But if she didn’t decide, someone else would. Someone who didn’t know anything about crying lads and _feeling wrong_ and having to always look over your shoulder before you kissed your sweetheart.

_You do the job that’s in front of you_.

She owed them.

“Alright if we head out, Sarge?” Jones asked.

Polly blinked and looked up. “As long as you – ”

“ _Yes,_ we’ll be careful, Sarge,” Bunce said, rolling his eyes.

“Make sure you do.” She gave them both a slap on the shoulder. “Off you go then!”

They ran off, laughing.

“You know,” Polly said to Mal, watching the two boys bump their shoulders into each other, “the longer I go, the more I think it all simply doesn’t _matter_.”

“Yeah,” Mal said. “But until the rest of the world shares your opinion, it _does_ matter. You know?”

Polly nodded. “Alright. I think I’ve got a plan and I want to hear what you think of it.”

Mal saluted. “At your service, Sarge!”

***

Heads turned as she marched to the camp. People quickly made way for her. She had a  _reputation_ , after all, and no one wanted to be in her way.

Polly spotted Haddock and strode to him.  He quickly dropped his cigarette and straightened up, apparently aware of the dozens of eyes on them.

“Sergeant Haddock!”

“Sergeant Perks?”

Dozens of eyes. At least one pair of those would be the political kind. And she was willing to bet there were _others_ observing too. “I’m afraid I can’t take you up on your offer,” Polly said, her voice as clear as she could make it.

“Oh. Alright then, I’ll – ”

“It wouldn’t work, having an Ankh-Morpork officer here, telling us what to do.”

“I see, Serge-”

“It really wouldn’t be right,” she said, again. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw people nodding along, but Haddock narrowed his eyes, just a little. Not that stupid, was he? “Borogravia is for the Borogravians, that’s the way it is.”

“I see, sergeant.” Haddock gave her a small nod, but the disappointment was clear in his face. “Well, it’s been an honour meeting you, I can say that, and I wish you all the best.”

He gave her a salute, which Polly returned. And then he turned and marched – no, not marched, _ambled_ – back to his tent.

“Well?” Polly barked at the people around her. “Haven’t you lot got something else to do?”

The crowd dispersed.

“Quite the show,” Mal whispered.

Polly frowned. “Let’s hope it worked.”

***

Haddock heaved his bag higher and sighed. He wasn’t looking forward to the trip back home, especially since he didn’t have any good news. Old Stoneface had been pretty insistent on how important it was to make friends with them. He wouldn’t be pleased by the news.

Still, at least Haddock didn’t have to travel back by broomstick.

His horse whinnied and shifted. Haddock looked up, hand edging for his sword. You could never be too careful here. But he couldn’t see anything.

Gods, he’d be glad to get back home. Although the army camp itself – and the people – had been better than he expected.  He’d even been a bit disappointed by the infamous sergeant, who had turned out to be nothing but a young thin blonde with, admittedly, a pair of very piercing eyes, but who looked nothing out of the ordinary. He’d been expecting some fury from hell, not an ordinary-looking girl.

He turned back and jumped.

The sergeant was standing in front of him, her vampire corporal at her shoulder.

“Er,” he said, looking nervously between them. Vimes had assured him Perks was someone who could be trusted, but _vampires_ … And a lot could happen to a person in six years.

“Sorry about this,” Perks said cheerfully. “Had a question I didn’t want anyone else to hear.”

“Yes?” Haddock said, hesitantly.

“Does the Ankh-Morpork police force take foreign people?”

He gave her a sharp look. “Yeah, of course.”

“So if I were to send some people over there to be trained, or maybe go over myself…”

“You’d be welcomed with open arms. We have a lot of people who train in Ankh-Morpork, then afterwards take their training elsewhere. You wouldn’t be alone.”

She nodded. “I can’t come now, obviously. We need to sort this mess out a bit, otherwise I’d just come back and find the whole bloody country at war again.”

“So you’re…” He hesitated again. “You _are_ going to take up the Commander’s offer?”

“Sort of. But I can’t let anyone know about those plans, they’d have me branded as traitor before I could even pack. Upon my oath,” she added, sounding strangely solemn, “I am not a lying man, but sometimes you need to bend the truth a bit.”

“Right. I’ll tell the Commander, he’ll be thrilled.” Haddock grinned. “He likes you.”

Perks blinked in surprise. “Does he?”

“Yeah. Although to be fair, you were already in his good books before he even met you – courtesy of kicking a royal in the goolies.”

“Ah. Right,” Perks said. “I, er, don’t make a habit of kicking rulers in the socks, just to make that clear.”

“Well, good. I don’t think it’s a very wise idea to kick Vetinari. So…”

“So. You tell your Commander that in a month or two I’ll come to Ankh-Morpork to join the Watch, on the condition that once I’m done training, I can go back and start here.”

“I’ll tell him. Looking forward to seeing you in our city, Sergeant.”

“Thanks.” She smiled and turned to leave.

“Sergeant Perks?”

She looked over her shoulder, her vampire corporal hovering next to her. “Yes?”

“Don’t you still have the same problem?” he asked, hesitantly. “If you are trained in Ankh-Morpork, they might not accept you?”

Perks grinned. It was a grin that reminded him of old Vimes, when he was on the chase of some big criminal and hadn’t slept in three days and was running on nothing but desperate determination. What was that song they’d kept singing about Polly Perks? _The Devil shall be my sergeant_?

The light of the distant fires reflected in Polly Perk’s crystal-clear eyes, and her grin bared her teeth.

“I’ll _make_ them accept me.”


End file.
